Perfect
by Tristan2
Summary: We'll love you, just the way you are... If you're perfect. Songfic to Alanis Morisette's song of the same title, reviews GREATLY appreciated!


Perfect  
  
Sometimes is never quite enough  
  
If you're flawless, then you'll win my love  
  
Don't forget to win first place  
  
Don't forget to keep that smile on your face  
  
Draco sat silently in his room, vaguely hearing his parents arguing about him downstairs, as if he wasn't there. His father was talking in a low and hissing voice, much more imposing than his mother's shrill defenses. It was the summer before his fifth year and he had just recently been faced with the humiliation of Harry Potter's supposed fight with the Dark Lord, and his eventual victory. Lucius, his father, had become increasingly agitated after the events, his temper was very short, and the house elves cringed in fear every time he so much as breathed in their presence. Narcissa too had grown impatient and if anyone spoke the words "pot" or "scar" she'd have a meltdown. They were always correcting Draco about something or another nowadays, and no matter what he couldn't seem to please him. It was even worse than usual, because they kept saying things like "if that boy could do it, you can do it a thousand times better." It was as if they had gone completely off the deep end, as if he'd only please them by being exactly what they wanted, to perfection.  
  
Be a good boy  
  
Try a little harder  
  
You've got to measure up  
  
And make me prouder  
  
He always had to be as good as everyone else; there was always something just out of his grasp that his parents had him stretching for, day and night. How was it that people like Potter could take things so in stride, could accomplish what he could not without so much as a real, serious lesson? He was sure Harry Potter did not stay up late reciting incantations by firelight, picking at books written by purebloods, for purebloods. Death Eaters, even. Just try a little harder, he was always told. Go that small extra step, do what they cannot. He was accomplished, certainly, but he didn't care about that. His father would give him a small smile if he was lucky, but he mostly just ordered him around like a puppet.  
  
How long before you screw it up  
  
How many times do I have to tell you to hurry up  
  
With everything I do for you  
  
The least you can do is keep quiet  
  
It was always "now don't get this wrong" and then he would be tested against things he hadn't even heard of before. His father had 'taken it upon himself' to give him dueling lessons, none of which did much for his image, usually ending up with a bleeding cheek or bruised chest. His mother watched, she didn't always approve of how he was being treated, but she would never say so in front of Lucius. When Draco tried asking why his father always ended up hurting him, his father responded angrily, telling him that with everything he was doing for his son, taking time out of his own life, it could at least be appreciated and Draco could shut up. So that ended that conversation, and Draco never asked again. It drove him mad, how everything was always Lucius this, and sir that, his mother was just a small threat to most of the Manor's 'residents' and Draco was something to eventually be feared. Because he was certain to grow into his father, he had heard some of the servants whispering amongst each other. Growing into his father...?  
  
I'll live for you  
  
I'll make you what I never was  
  
If you're the best, then maybe so am I  
  
Compared to him compared to her  
  
I'm doing this for your own damn good  
  
You'll make up for what I blew  
  
What's the problem Why are you crying?  
  
He stared into the long mirror hanging on the opposite wall, reflecting a sullen boy of about 14 or 15 years, his silvery blond hair usually smoothed back now tousled and dry. Fringes were falling into his eyes, and he brushed them out of the way angrily. He surveyed himself, sat up straight, but felt completely not the part. He was being handed something in life, he wasn't anything without his title, and he was told so. It was all put out in front of him, tutors everywhere, he wasn't permitted to do anything outside what was appropriate for a Malfoy. No associating with mudbloods, people who weren't Slytherins, and he must excel at everything. He had heard talk enough talk. But he knew for himself that he was being lived through vicariously: by his mother who couldn't help submitting to everything his father said, and of course by his father who was determined to make Draco nothing short of better than he was, something to be proud of. A prized trophy, to show off in a clear case and put on display for everyone, whether they wanted to see it or not. In spite of everything, Draco couldn't help the burning tears that were beginning to overflow in his eyes. He was so angry, he thought he might smash something. It was only until now he realized how used he really was.  
  
Be a good boy  
  
Push a little farther now  
  
That wasn't fast enough  
  
To make us happy  
  
We'll love you just the way you are If you're perfect  
  
His mother used to tell him she loved him, his father used to tell him what a great wizard he would be one day. And he would dream of making them happy, of going that extra step, of winning that Quidditch match, making them proud. But now that he was older, they had stopped telling him anything positive, always criticism, always who he was going to defeat, how, and with how much money. And this strange idea, that this was how it was supposed to be, didn't seem quite right. They'd love him just the way he was. If he was perfect. 


End file.
